From September 19th to November 29th 2008 I was touring with my 'Men with beards (what are they hiding?)' e.p.
For the duration of this tour I resolved not to shave, hoping by the end of it I would have gained a unique insight into the confusing world of beards, the likes of which adorn not only the face of the bravest and most revered of English heroes, such as Sir Walter Raleigh, Brian Blessed and Giant Haystacks but some of the most unhinged sociopaths like Gary Glitter, Harold Shipman and Noel Edmonds.
from 'Wicked Beyond Belief - The Hunt for the Yorkshire Ripper'
Alas my plans for a big proud beard were shot to shit as is documented below in my shoddily shoved together weekly 'beardblog' which I wrote while on tour...
BEARDBLOG1 - 6 days growth
worried that i might have incurred the wrath of some hard bearded blokes with my catchy song "men with beards" and its accompanying humorous video i have been trying to take a trip into the mind of a beardy.

BEARDBLOG2 - 2 weeks growth
worried that i might have incurred the wrath of some hard bearded blokes with my catchy song "men with beards" and its accompanying humorous video i have been trying to take a trip into the mind of a beardy by growing my own chin minge.
at 2 weeks growth i have started to look like an alcoholic vagrant. the other day i found myself sat outside the basildon BP with 4 cans of super in a blue carrier bag asking motorists if they could spare any change and calling them cunts if they wouldn't give us anything. then i went through some bins and found half a BLT which i had for supper.
yesterday i was trying to get a bit of kip on a bench in gloucester park when i was happy slapped by a group of teenage scrotes who then returned half an hour later and tried to set fire to me.
i am currently sat in a puddle of freezing piss staring at women walking by while rubbing my helmet vigorously.


BEARDBLOG3 - 3 weeks growth
worried that i might have incurred the wrath of some hard bearded blokes with my acclaimed song "men with beards (what are they hiding?)" and its accompanying jocular video i have been trying to immerse myself in the seedy world of beards by cultivating my own face fungus.
this week my bearded mentor sinclair from the flavours
lent me his handbook on how to use my beard to stalk ladies.
i got all kitted out in my camouflage gear and lurked around in the bushes in gloucester park, going there via the offy where i bought a 4 pack of special brew. i sipped from my cans as i watched ladies walk past, some walking their dogs, some in sports kit out for a jog and others just making their way across the park after work or in their lunch break.
after downing a couple of cans and while concealed within said foliage i felt rather randy and had the urge to free my erect penis from the constrains of my camo trousers and give it a jolly good tug.
as the day went on i took some photos on my phone from my hideout in the shrubs and later in the afternoon i followed some of these ladies home, making a note of where they lived and taking more photos of them as they got changed behind their net curtains. it was while partaking in this harmless activity that i was arrested by some policemen who had themselves been carrying out a covert operation - on yours truly! i told them my real name was paul gadd but this did not help matters. they seized my phone as evidence and came round my house and took all my pictures and videos of carol vorderman away. 
i told them my dad was phil collins from genesis but it made no difference.
they removed all my photos i had taken since i started growing my beard, even my harmless fancy dress ones
fuckers!
luckily i was let out in time for my northern gigs, where i had a very nice time. this was me in leeds:
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BEARDBLOG4 - 4 weeks growth
My facial hair is still patchy as fuck, it looks like Simon Weston's pubes.
With the occasional distinguished grey gob-pube in among my sparse dark fuzz, I reminded myself of a young John Virgo, if he had swapped his trademark maroon waistcoat for an urban camo jumpsuit, and his snooker cue for a small deformed hand puppet that squeakily spouts sexual phrases.
For some reason though women are finding my crap attempt at a beard very arousing and at this week's gigs I have been courting several offers from (admittedly plastered) young ladies who have been keen to get some beard on beard action.
Unfortunately the first couple of young ladies were wearing period pants so like a young John Virgo, I had to pot a red and a tricky brown then needed a rest to sink a long pink into the middle pocket before whipping it out and jizzing on her knockers.
One big drawback of my burgeoning face fuzz was that I failed to see the monitor from behind my chinbush when mounting the stage in Southampton and went arse over tit. Luckily the nice Mr. Summers caught it on video camera and posted it up on Youtube…
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1XCUnadlE8M
While in Exeter I did an internet radio interview with two young men called Chris and Ollie who seemed intent on getting me to talk about serial killers and kid fiddlers. In case they edit me unfairly I would like to state right now that I DO NOT want to go for a beer with Ian Huntley, and even if I did I don't think we could get him signed out to come for one anyway. And I WAS NOT impressed with what Fred West did, I was just trying to stress if someone does a good job tiling my bathroom I don't care what they get up to in their spare time.
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BEARDBLOG5 – 5 WEEKS' GROWTH
For those of you that are just joining us now, I have spent the last 5 weeks attempting to grow a beard to get a glimpse into the psyche of bearded blokes.
Being a man in his thirties who is mature on so many other levels you would think that this would not present a problem.
I was hoping by this stage that I would have a full on Sutcliffe-style murderbeard adorning my chin area but unfortunately after 5 weeks it is still looking like a Fisher Price "My First Beard" kit.
This is me and my beard this week, with my amusing Travelodge room key...
Despite my uneven gob foliage I have again this week experienced an unusual amount of female attention.
I can only come to the conclusion that girls think I look really manly and maybe in my faux-80s-asda-copy-england-kit remind them a bit of Peter Withe or Gary Birtles. In full kit I have been told in the past that I'm actually more like Peter Crouch but without his good touch for a big man, although I can do his spacky robot dance.
In Aberdeen I was lucky enough to meet one of my boyhood heroes, bung taking moustachioed former Liverpool sticksman Bruce Grobelaar.
Let that be a lesson kids that cheats don't prosper. The former Anfield number one is scratching a living in a working men's club as a potboy, and is no longer "rapping now... rapping for fun" but instead is forced to stand on his hands while pissed Aberdonians chuck Scampi Fries and Cheese moments into his open gob, while chanting "sex in yer mooth, sex in yer mooth"!
In Newcastle there was a big turnout from the "Barry Didn't Do it" campaign office. 
and if she didn't live in London, I was gonna suggest, "All back to Burley's"
Lastly but not leastly, I played at painter John Lee Bird's "before encore" exhibition. He had painted me and Little Kunt earlier this year, along with loads of other people, including the Boosh blokes and Jarvis Cockout.
Normally at any remotely highbrow shindigs I would expect to die on my arse and had no reason to suspect Saturday would be any differerent but in actual fact it went really well, leaving me wondering whether there might actually be some good vibes hidden among this embarrassing shock of fluff on the bottom half of my fizzog.
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BEARDBLOG6 – 6 WEEKS' GROWTH
Having not shaved since the start of our "Men with beards (what are they hiding?)" tour on September 19th I am starting to gain an insight into the world of beardy blokes.
As my mangey face hair has grown in clumps around my chops it has coincided with an increase in my sex drive, so much so that I have had to start carrying a wankmag around in the glove box of my Ford Fiesta and am often to be seen relieving myself in a layby in an attempt to stave off my winky's urges.
Having been at home this past week and playing localish gigs I have had a lot of time on my hands which I've tried to fill with diversions to stop me thinking about ladies frontbottoms.
I did a bit of cash in hand work on my mate's building site and while bussing home from said job, still wearing the regulation boiler suit, I noticed one of my laces was a bit frayed. One minute I struck a match and was bending down at the back of the bus to burn off said errant threads from my trainer boot, the next I knew I was splayed out face down in the aisle in an armlock, with a chaps knee pressed in my back.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" I shouted.
After much commotion it turned out someone on the bus had seen my sausage digits approaching my footwear with a lit Swan Vesta and mistaken me for shoebomber Richard Reid. Then some sprightly have-a-go hero had pounced on me before I could detonate me Hi-tecs!
Eventually they let me up at which point I explained I wasn't a terrorist but was in fact the popular singer, Kunt from Kunt and the Gang, which led to much embarrassment and hilarity. Luckily we all saw the funny side and I happily stayed there for ten minutes signing autographs and reciting amusing beard based anecdotes for the passengers.
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BEARDBLOG7 - 7 WEEKS' GROWTH AND MY GREAT BIG GASH
I have been growing this bastard beard for 7 weeks now.
There are still times when I forget though.
Then I catch sight of myself in a mirror and think, "why is that lanky twat with a patchy excuse for a beard staring at me?"
The other night in Norwich played out like the 'guess the accident' bit in an episode of Casualty.
There's this big tall prick in an 80s tracksuit top whose going to be singing songs about wanking to a load of drunk bastards in a venue.
Will he get electrocuted by a live wire in the sound system? No.
Will his vigorous dance movements lead to a bone sticking out his arm? No.
Will he get bottled by someone who doesn't like that kind of sexy language being used in front of his wife? No.
Oh look, here comes the accident. He's getting his bag down from a high ledge, and he's standing on one of those bar benches - you know the kind, the kind that is about six foot long and always bolted to the wall. Except this time it's not.
One minute I was stood with arms aloft reaching for my bag. The next minute there was a massive smash and everyone looked round to see me laying in a heap on my back, arms and legs flailing around having taken out two tables of glasses with me.
I got myself up and accepted the customary round of applause before limping into my dressing room.
When I wished the other day that I could get my fingers round a great big gash in my dressing room this wasn't what I had in mind.
My shin had blood pissing out of it all over the place. I wrapped a bandage round it and hobbled round the stage for 40 minutes.
This is my gash 4 days later...
I blame my hairy chin-minge. It must have unbalanced me. This is an artist's impression of what happened...

Bunch of cunts.
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BEARDBLOG8 – 8 WEEKS' GROWTH
I fear the strain that trying to grow this beard has placed on my body has affected my immune system.
Last weekend I was introduced to a baby who everytime it sneezed or coughed, farted and shat itself.
Needless to say because of my low immunity brought on by my body trying to fill out the patchy areas of my gobflange I caught this terrible viral affliction and took it on tour with me last week.
In Nottingham I made one vigorous move during soundcheck and was presented with a pantful of bum mush. I cleverly covered this up by saying through gritted teeth, "yep, that sounds fine." At which point I dashed to the bogs to wipe and hid my soiled y-fronts above a tile in the suspended ceiling.
I fared a little better in Liverpool, making it as far as the star jumps on 'Carol Vorderman' before my arsehole gave out a gravy cough.
Luckily this week I have had a week off to recuperate so I have spent most of the week on the sofa watching Jeremy Kyle. 
He's a proper fuckpig but I do like the way he goes all cockney when he's having a go at someone, "Come on mate, if you weren't so spaced off your face on cannabis joints then you might be able to bring up yer kid propahly!"
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BEARDBLOG9 – OFF WITH THE BEARD
This week saw the end of the beardtour and, not before time, the end of my wafty beard. Long gone were the days when women found it manly and attractive, and words that had been used to describe it over the last few days included "unruly", "rancid" and "vagrant". 
In our hotel after our Cardiff gig Little Kunt told me I'd given him stubble rash when I gave him a cuddle in the night so I knew it was time for it to go...
It was taking over my personality and I started hearing a little voice telling me to kill prostitutes. It may have just been Little Kunt but I did it just in case.
And so after dumping her off in a rolled up offcut of 70s carpet in a layby between Swansea and Bristol I finished off the tour with gigs in Bristol and Deptford.
And so my bearded adventure drew to a close and I shaved the fucker off, going via a few well known facial hairstyles as listed below.
Epilogue
Over the course of my tour and as my beard came to fruition I was taken under the wing of my bearded brethren and learned many, many dark and disturbing bearded secrets. I entered a twisted and hairy underworld where regular laws don't apply and the beard is lord and master of all. "So tell us all about it Kunt", I hear you say. Alas I cannot. I dare not speak of it, or reveal that sometimes they use wax to cover the gaps twixt moustache and beard, for fear that I will be smited by some hairy bastard with a pick axe handle. Suffice to say if you grow a beard yourself I'm sure you will soon become aware of the seedy realm of chin minges. And for those of you who can't grow one, because you are a female, or indeed a male who is not yet pubic, next time you pass a bearded man in the street, feel free to say to them "That beard doesn't hide the fact you're a nonce", although don't say that I told you to do it.
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